


This is War

by silentlyyscreamingg



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentlyyscreamingg/pseuds/silentlyyscreamingg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nogitsune is gone, but Stiles is still falling apart. Post 3b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story of Stiles post-nogitsune and how he handles everything that’s happened during 3b.

**Chapter 1**

“There's never the right last moment. There is always more to say, somewhere to go, something to remember. Another discussion, another fight. There is always supposed to be another day.”

― Pamela Ribon, You Take It From Here

 

It was over. The nogitsune was finally destroyed; for good this time. He was safe. Everyone was safe. Well, not everyone. Allison was dead, and so was Aiden. Not to mention all the other nameless, faceless people who had been killed in the nogitsune’s wake. But it was finally over. Except it wasn’t.

 

It wasn’t over for Stiles. He plastered on his fake smile well enough as his dad hugged him; he’d had plenty of practice after all. He cracked a joke at Scott and laughed along as everybody heaved a sigh of relief. He was Stiles again. Everything was fine. They all hugged him and laughed and joked until his dad decided that Stiles must need rest and finally drove him home before heading back to the station.

 

He was standing alone in the middle of his room when he finally let the smile fall from his face, an ugly grimace taking its place. He didn’t know how the rest of them could even look at him after all the horrible things he’d done. How could they act like everything was alright? Allison, who was meant to end up with Scott, who knew what she stood for, who was perhaps the strongest of them all was dead because of him. And Aiden was gone too. Maybe the pack never would have forgiven him, but he didn’t deserve to be dead. Ethan didn’t deserve to lose half of himself. They may have made the wrong choice more than once, but they were trying to survive for each other; Stiles understood what that was like.

 

His hands shook as he held them up to light. He could feel the blood on his fingertips. He had killed people. He had blood on his hands. Icy tendrils of guilt gripped his stomach and tore at the walls of his abdomen until the next thing he knew he was curled over the toilet in his bathroom heaving up the dinner his friends had gotten in celebration of Stiles being Stiles again. The bile kept rising in his throat even after the food did, and soon he was a mess of sobs and dry heaves, clutching at the porcelain in front of him with shaking fingers.

 

The bathroom floor creaked behind him, and he thought it must be he father – though that didn’t make any sense because he had left for work – as a strong hand came to rest on his back until the owner of the hand whispered his name.

 

“Derek?” Stiles murmured, furrowing his brow. Why would Derek be there?

 

Derek simply hummed in response as he carefully wiped Stiles mouth with a washcloth before gently lifting him to his feet and guiding him forward. Stiles complied for the most part until they made it back into his room. His mind was slightly clearer now, and as he turned to face Derek, his brown eyes widened as if realizing for the first time who he was with. He tried to shove Derek away, but that was a hopeless pursuit.

 

“Leave,” Stiles rasped, his throat raw.

 

“No,” Derek replied evenly.

 

“Dammit, Derek, get out!” Stiles tried more forcefully as he shoved Derek again.

 

Derek didn’t answer the time. Instead he pulled Stiles closer until he had both arms firmly wrapped around him.

 

“Fuck you! Get off me!” Stiles screamed, pounding his fists against Derek’s chest, but Derek just held on tighter until Stiles dissolved into tears.

 

Stiles ended up collapsing to the floor, and Derek followed, arms still securely wrapped around him. He didn’t say anything just held Stiles as he rocked back and forth and muttered under his breath until Derek finally made out what he was saying.

 

“Don’t touch me. I’m a monster. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

 

“Stiles,” he spoke firmly grabbing Stiles’ chin and turning his face to meet his eyes. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

 

“I might,” Stiles whimpered desperately. “I’m a monster.”

 

“You are not a monster,” Derek growled fiercely, but regretted it when Stiles flinched away from him. “You want to know how I know?”

 

Derek took a deep breath and waited until Stiles met his gaze once again.

 

“I know you’re not a monster because you drove me all around town while I was bleeding out on your seats with a bullet in my arm. And you were willing to chop my arm off before I was poisoned by the wolfsbane. I know you’re not a monster because you held me up in a pool for hours when I know you’re biggest fear is drowning. I know you’re not a monster because you didn’t leave me unconscious in that elevator at the hospital. You made sure I got out, and you stayed to hold off the cops for us. You’re not a monster because you’ve saved me more times than I can count, and I haven’t even done anything to deserve it. You see the good in people. You’re what holds us all together. If anything, I’m the one that’s…”

 

Derek stopped himself rather abruptly, but Stiles was too far gone to care. He had finally relaxed into Derek’s grip, his mind slowing to a level that allowed him to see past the wave of panic and guilt that had swept him under; his mind was comfortably numb. Derek’s voice had been rough but soothing, and he was radiating a comforting warmth. He wanted to stay like this. It was safe. He was finally safe.

 

But then Derek’s strong arms were lifting him, and he was being carried. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and burrowed further into his warm chest. Derek laid him down gently on the cool sheets of his bed, bringing his comforter up to his chin tucking it around his shoulders. The room was dark when Stiles peaked through half-lidded eyes as he felt Derek turn away.

 

“Stay,” he mumbled sleepily. He reached his hand out from under his blanket when Derek seemed to be frozen between the bed and the window.

 

“Okay,” came Derek’s soft reply.

 

Stiles let his eyes slip shut again, but he heard Derek walk across the room to his desk chair, sliding it up to the bed. He listened to the rustling of material as Derek shrugged his leather jacket off his shoulders and set it on the back of the chair before taking a seat.

 

“Sleep,” Derek commanded softly as he grabbed the hand Stiles had held out to him. And Stiles did. He fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of Derek’s soft, even breaths and the warmth of Derek’s hand clasping his own.

 

Stiles woke the next morning to the sun casting a blinding glare through his window. He rubbed his eyes groggily and sat up as the memory of the night before slowly returned to him. Since when did Derek stick around to comfort people? He was almost convinced that it must have been a dream when he felt a cold breeze. He casts a glance at his window realizing it had been left open. It was December; the sun may be shining, but it certainly wasn’t warm. And he definitely didn’t leave it open himself. So it was all real. Derek had been there. He smiled and tried not to analyze the warmth that spread through his chest at the realization.

 

Prepare myself for a war

And I don't know what I'm doing this for

Trying to let it all go

But how can I when you still don't know?

-       Damien Rice, Prague


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

“But you can’t get away from yourself. You can’t decide not to see yourself anymore. You can’t decide to turn off the noise in your head.”

—        Jay Asher

“Dude, you look terrible. Are you still not sleeping?”

 

“I’m fine,” Stiles said trying to shrug off Scott’s concern. He didn’t think he’d be able to take any more of Scott’s pathetic puppy eyes that were directed towards Stiles every time they were together as of late.

 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay man,” Scott insisted trying to make eye contact while following him down the hallway.

 

“Yeah, dude, I’m good,” Stiles reiterated stopping at his locker. “Hey, where’s Derek been lately?”

 

He was aiming for distraction. It seemed to be the only way to get Scott to lay off him. Scott was always pretty easy to distract. It’s not like he was concerned over the fact that he hadn’t seen Derek since that night in his bedroom a week and a half ago. Or that he desperately craved that feeling of being safe that Derek had given him since he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since then. Definitely not.

 

“I don’t know, man,” Scott shrugged. “It’s Derek. He’s always disappearing without a word. Anyway, I gotta get to class. I’ll see you later. And, seriously, make sure you get some rest.”

 

Scott clapped him on the shoulder before walking off leaving Stiles staring after him. God, he was tired. He just wanted to go home, but he couldn’t really afford to skip class with how much he had missed. Heaving a sigh, he trudged off to his next class.

 

xxx

 

_He screamed, his heart pounding as he tried to fight for control. The nogitsune had taken over again. He had his father and was preparing to kill him, relishing Stiles screams to let him go. The blade had just pierced his father’s chest when a voice came through the haze._

 

“Stiles? Stiles, wake up!”

 

Then there were hands wrapping around his shoulders, shaking him gently until his eyes shot open. He gasped for air as the strong arms wrapped themselves further around him. He buried his face in the chest in front of him, clutching at the material of their shirt as tears leaked out of his eyes. He stayed like that for what seemed like hours catching his breath and trying to slow his racing heart.

 

“Stiles, are you with me?” the voice said after what, in reality, had only been a few minutes.

 

Now that the initial fear from the nightmare had faded, Stiles recognized the gentle voice and the broad chest and the warm arms. It was his father. He was being hugged by the man he had almost killed in his dream just minutes ago; the only family he had left. As Stiles made this realization, the Sheriff began to pull away concerned with Stiles’ silence.

 

“Don’t go,” Stiles whispered desperately, tightening his grasp on his father’s shirt. He had to be sure his father was real. That his dream had been just that, a dream.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” the Sheriff reassured gently.

 

xxx

 

 

Stiles was walking to school the next morning when he felt a hand grab his hoodie. He hadn’t driven the Jeep since the night they’d defeated the nogitsune; he wasn’t sure he trusted himself behind the wheel of a car anymore, so he mostly walked places now. He body was jerked back so suddenly he almost landed on his ass, but then he was being shoved against the nearest tree, a dangerous-looking Ethan keeping him in place.

 

“Scott should have let us kill you!” Ethan roared, eyes flashing an icy blue. “It’s your fault Aiden’s dead. You killed my brother!”

 

Stiles simply stared as Ethan continued screaming in his face. He stopped hearing the words, just watched the rage and pain that played across Ethan’s face and knew that he was responsible. He deserved whatever happened to him. Vaguely he realized Ethan had raised a clawed hand in the air, ready to strike. He closed his eyes.

 

xxx

 

“What the hell l was that?”

 

Stiles opened his eyes. Derek was standing over what appeared to be an unconscious Ethan, his piercing gaze never leaving Stiles as he took in the scene. Derek must have stopped Ethan. But where had Derek come from? How much time had he lost?

 

“Nothing,” Stiles finally managed, trying to convey nonchalance. He took a quick breath in before turning to continue his journey to school.

 

“Nothing?” Derek growled grabbing Stiles’ shoulder and spinning him back around. “That was not nothing. You didn’t even fucking try to defend yourself. I’ve taught you how to get out of a pinned position. And you didn’t even flinch when I got here; it’s like you weren’t aware of your surroundings. So I’ll ask again; what the hell was that?”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles repeated wrenched his shoulder out of Derek’s grasp. “He’s practically part of the pack, and I killed his brother, so he has a fucking right to be upset about it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for school.”

 

And with that, he stormed off not bothering to look back to gauge Derek’s reaction.

 

“Guilt isn’t always a rational thing, Clio realized. Guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not.”

-       Maureen Johnson, Girl at Sea

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know in a lot of post-nogitsune fics, Derek is always strong and together and able to just save Stiles with love which doesn’t makes sense to me. Which is not to say I don’t enjoy reading those fics or that Derek won’t help Stiles in this fic obviously, I just can’t write this without Derek having his own issues too. So, that being said, Derek is still traumatized by what happened with Kate and Jennifer in this fic (which is my personal headcanon for how he should be at this point and time in the show.) He’s been emotionally manipulated and sexually abused. That kind of fucks a person up.

 

**Chapter 3**

 

“And yet to every bad there’s a worse.”

-Thomas Hardy

It had been a month since the nogitsune and Stiles was done. He was done trying. Done caring. Done with everything.

 

The ticking of the clock was the only sound in his room as Stiles sat on his bed. The Sheriff was on the night shift again. It was probably better that way. His father didn’t understand his blank stare, and Stiles didn’t have the words to explain it to him.

 

 _What good could words possibly do?_ Stiles thought. _They never convey the depth of what you want to say anyway; they can’t. That’s the great flaw of language. Nothing ever comes out like it does in your head._

Silence was his state of being now. It was almost like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t there, that he had already disappeared. And maybe he wished he had. Maybe he wished the nogitsune had taken him with it when it had died. At least then he wouldn’t be around to hear the ghost of its voice taunting him in his head. He wouldn’t have to hear the bloodcurdling screams of his friends dying over and over in his sleep. Everything really would be silent.

He knew he’d done enough to worry his friends. He didn’t talk much anymore; what could he possibly say? He didn’t really eat; everything tasted like ash on his tongue. He felt like his skin was too tight, like maybe it wasn’t even his skin at all. Maybe it wasn’t even his body. Maybe he still wasn’t really him. Maybe he never would be.

 

“Stiles?” a voice spoke softly.

 

Stiles didn’t even flinch, didn’t move a muscle with the exception of his eyes which flicked up to see Derek standing just inside his window. He couldn’t say he was really all that surprised. Derek had been checking up on him lately, but that didn’t mean Stiles welcomed the presence in his room. He knew Derek would want him to talk, but the weight pressing down on his chest was too much. He was done talking. He didn’t have anything to say, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to get the words out of his mouth.

 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked quietly, his brow furrowed, and his eyes searching. “The pack’s worried about you.”

 

Something inside him snapped, and Stiles decided he had had it with people talking at him, with empty silences, with the suffocating numbness. He wanted to feel alive, to feel something. Anything. So, in one fluid motion, he was up and across the room wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist and kissing him. Derek froze underneath his touch, eyes wide and frightened.

 

“S-Stiles?” Derek stuttered, suddenly sounding much younger than he was. Stiles didn’t respond choosing to continue mouthing at his jaw. “W-What are you doing?”

 

“C’mon, Derek,” Stiles murmured running his hands up Derek’s arms and pushing him back against the wall. “I know you like me. Let’s have some fun.”

 

Derek stayed frozen for several more moments, shoulders rigid under Stiles’ fingers. Stiles was trying to get his hands underneath Derek’s leather jacket when Derek finally grabbed his wrists. “Stop,” Derek whispered weakly. Stiles ignored him and tried to continue kissing his way down Derek’s neck.

 

“I said stop!” Derek practically roared pushing Stiles back.

 

“What the hell, Derek?” Stiles snapped, stumbling a moment before regaining his balance.

 

“Look, I know you feel guilty about Allison and Aiden, but–“ Derek started fists clenched at his sides as he tried to speak gently.

 

“Oh look who’s talking,” Stiles snarled cutting him off. “I’m not the one who killed my first girlfriend with my bare hands, then got my entire family killed by my second. Jeez, Derek. You’d think you would need a rebound period or something after Paige, but no, you jumped on Kate barely a year later.”

 

Derek’s face crumpled at the mention of Paige, Kate, and his family all in one sentence, and Stiles knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he had gone too far, but he couldn’t stop to poison spilling from his mouth.

 

“But maybe you’re just willing to fuck any girl that gives you a second glance, I mean, we don’t even have to get started on Jennifer, do we? Are you really that fucking pathetic, Derek? That fucking needy for someone to tell you you’re not worthless?”

 

Stiles still felt rage boiling under his skin at the end of his little tirade, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath reveling in the feeling of an actual emotion. By the time he opened them, Derek was already gone. In his haze, Stiles had missed the tears that had welled up behind Derek’s eyes before he ran away, desperate to leave before he let them fall.

 

“Do old scars ever stop hurting?”

— Stephen King, The Shining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I was able to convey the emotions in that properly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I was ill, but now that I can finally function again, I’m back. I don’t know if I really like the way this chapter came out, but I’ve tried to write it so many times that I’m just done with it. So, here it is.

**Chapter 4**

 

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”  
-       F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

 

Stiles stood motionless in the spot Derek had left him until his legs finally refused to hold him up any longer, and he crumpled to the floor. _What the fuck had he just done?_ His head was spinning, and it hurt to focus, but he had to. He had to figure out what had just happened. He lifted his hands up to his face and counted slowly. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._

 

Shit. This wasn’t a dream; it was real. He’d really just tried to get Derek to sleep with him and thrown the deaths of everyone he’d ever loved in his face when he’d refused. As soon as that realization fully dawned on him, his gut clenched in disgust, and he found himself gagging over the toilet for the nth time this month.

 

He wished he could scream until his lungs gave out, wished he was a werewolf so he could use his claws to tear his abdomen to shreds. The guilt over what he had just done was suffocating him. He’d already felt enough weight on his chest from what he had done to Allison and Aiden and by extension Scott, Isaac, and Lydia.

 

But this was different. This was Derek. Derek, who had lost his first love, who had lost his family, who had lost the pack he had tried so hard to build, whose guilt Stiles understood better than any of the others could ever hope. Derek had been betrayed by everyone he’d ever put an ounce of trust in, and here Stiles was, adding to the list of people who caused him to suffer.

 

It was that fact that made Stiles once again question whether he ever did anything right and come up with a definitive answer. No. He was hurting everyone, all the people he had tried so desperately to protect were suffering because of him. It was abundantly clear to him that he was the problem. He tried so fucking hard to fix everything, but he only made things worse. Who was he kidding anyway? He was just a stupid, useless human running around with a bunch of werewolves. Did he really think he had anything to offer? Did he really think he was anything other than a burden?

 

And it was in that moment that something in his mind snapped. He couldn’t live with himself anymore. Not when the guilt for everything he had done threatened to tear him apart itself. And since everybody else had refused to punish him, he’d just have to do it himself. He stumbled to his feet and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, letting out a hallow laugh as he caught sight of his reflection. He looked worse now than when he was possessed by the nogitsune. The circles under his eyes were so dark, they looked like they’d been painted on. His cheeks were sunken in, and his lips were cracked and bleeding.

 

He already looked dead as he reached for the medicine cabinet and grabbed every pill bottle he could find. He mind was too far gone to figure out what would be lethal, so he poured them all out onto the floor before picking up a handful. He swallowed pill after pill until he was incoherent, and then he simply laid down on the floor and waited to die.

 

He slipped out of consciousness, and as his eyes closed he saw his father’s face wearing that expression that made Stiles’ chest feel cold. It was the expression he wore every time he looked at Stiles for weeks after his mother died. He knew it was because he looked so much like her; he had her eyes. One night, after a few too many drinks, his father had told him so. The sheriff also told him how much he wished Stiles were gone too because he couldn’t handle seeing his wife’s eyes looking up at him every day. And Stiles agreed. It should have been him; he should have been the one to die, not his mother. And Stiles felt at peace because he was finally doing what he should have done from the start; he was dying.

 

But then the door to the bathroom opened, and he heard a voice calling his name as the world faded to black.

 

I wanna die without pain  
I wanna die, oh, without pain  
All this deception I just can’t maintain  
The sun, moon, the stars in the sky  
It’d hurt me too bad if you said goodbye  
Lies, lies, lies, ohh lies  
-       The Black Keys, Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a really sad chapter. I’m sorry if it’s terribly written; the words just weren’t coming to me. And don’t worry, Stiles isn’t dead, nor is he going to die later. This isn’t a death fic, so just hold on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**  
  
In this town filled with  
Violent mothers  
Cheating fathers  
Leaving lovers  
Angry brothers  
Starving daughters  
Starving daughters  
Worried lovers  
I swear to you, I'll never trust again  
-       Maria Mena, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

  
Derek had been running for a while now. Honestly, he’d lost track of how long. He was somewhere deep in the preserve at the edge of Beacon Hills, but he still felt the itch under his skin that told him he needed to run away, that he needed to keep going until he outran himself. All those years he’d spent running, it was all for nothing. He was still trying to escape something that lived inside himself.

  
After Kate, he’d changed in a lot of ways. He’d stopped looking at himself in the mirror or any reflective surface for that matter, didn’t want to see the image of her guiding his clumsy hands to her soft hips. He didn’t want to see the smirk that played across her face when it was over embarrassingly fast. He didn’t want to see the weak, stupid little boy that had fallen for her tricks. He’d stopped playing basketball because he couldn’t change in the locker room or play on the court amidst the mass of other bodies without feeling like he might suffocate. He’d started working out on his own instead. Endless sets and reps as if building an impeccably strong outer shell would somehow erase his weakness, erase the scared sixteen year old that still lived under his skin.

  
He had liked to think that he was okay because of all that, that he managed just fine. But then Stiles had to go and corner him and he’d froze like a scared puppy, all the memories flooding back as thought they’d never really left. And in truth, they hadn’t. He’d suppressed them, but they were still just beneath the surface. He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t fearless. He was still nothing more than a pathetically terrified teenage under his carefully constructed mask. He still slept with one eye open, still wasn’t sure whether he could or should trust anyone or if he was only made to be used.

  
But he had trusted Stiles. Somewhere along the way he’d let his guard down, and Stiles had waltzed right in. He was loud and obnoxious and annoying, but he was reliable. He was always there which was more comforting than Derek would ever admit. Stiles was ready to fight alongside him, even when he hadn’t done anything to deserve his sacrifices. He’d never met anyone so courageous before. He only hoped that it really was courage and not a need to make up for something or a lack of self-worth because God knows that’s what it was for Derek. Not to say that he didn’t truly want to help people, but the fact that he didn’t care if he died certainly helped when he had to throw himself into danger to save someone else. It’s not like he deserved a life anyway, not after he’d gotten so many people killed. But Stiles did; Stiles deserved a life.

  
Derek had almost made it completely out of Beacon Hills when his phone rang. He almost didn’t answer it thinking it might be Stiles, and he really didn’t know what to say to him right now. But he did after checking the caller ID and seeing it wasn’t Stiles, it was Scott, and Scott never called him unless he needed help with something.

  
“What?” Derek snapped as he pressed the phone to his ear.

  
“Derek?” Scott voice sounded small and unsure which put Derek on edge. Scott never sounded anything less than totally confident. “Derek, it’s Stiles…”

  
And Derek felt his heart stop.

 

xxx  
  
Derek burst through the doors of the emergency room with far more force than strictly necessary. He didn’t bother with asking one of the nurses where Stiles was, he simply followed the scent that he knew better than his own. He soon arrived at the second floor and spotted Scott looking through the window of one of the rooms.

  
“What happened?” Derek practically roared, slamming Scott against the nearest wall.

  
“Woah, man, calm down,” Scott replied, his voice much steadier than it had been over the phone. “He’s asleep. The doctor said it was an overdose, and he doesn’t know when he’ll wake up, but he should be okay.”  
  
“He should be okay?!” Derek asked incredulously. “How the hell could you let this happen in the first place? He’s your best friend. You’re supposed to protect him. You’re supposed to keep him safe.”  


Scott didn’t say a word, but his eyes flashed red as his fist connected with Derek’s jaw. Derek stumbled back with the force of the blow, clicking his jaw back into place before looking up at Scott in disbelief. Scott merely glared one more time before marching off to God knows where leaving

Derek to stare after him.   
  
Derek shook his head before turning to look through the window of the room in front of him. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the image of Stiles laid out on the small hospital bed, IV inserted into his arm, his skin almost as white as the sheets beneath him. Though Derek could hear the consistent beep of the heart monitor next to the bed, he had to hone his hearing to Stiles’ real heartbeat for several seconds before he could convince himself that Stiles really was alive. He looked so fragile.   
  
Before he knew what he was doing, Derek was inside the room, standing uncertainly next to the bed. He wasn’t even sure he was allowed in the room, considering Scott had been waiting outside, but he didn’t really give a shit. He just needed to confirm that Stiles was still there. He dragged a chair from the corner of the room up to the bed and sat down. He tentatively reached out a hand towards Stiles but withdrew it before he could touch him, and instead contented himself with crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair to wait, a tightness lingering in his chest.

  
“I felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then but I think I have known it pretty often, too often.”

—        Charles Bukowski, Tales Of Ordinary Madness

 


End file.
